Zombie Baseball at Sunset

The palm trees cast long shadows across the baseball diamond as Mikey dragged himself toward home plate. He felt like a straight-up zombie after staying up until 3 AM scrolling through Maya's Instagram, analyzing every single post for clues about whether she'd actually show up to his championship game today.

"Dude, you look dead," said Carlos, tossing him a Gatorade. "Rough night?"

Mikey caught it with one hand. "Rough life, bro."

The truth was, this wasn't just about baseball anymore. The entire freshman class was here—Maya included—and Mikey had spent the past three weeks becoming someone completely different. Someone who wore cologne. Someone who actually washed his hair. Someone who texted back immediately instead of waiting three hours to play it cool.

He checked his phone again. Still no reply.

"Batter up!" the umpire shouted.

Mikey stepped into the batter's box, his heart pounding harder than it should for a Tuesday afternoon game. The pitcher wound up and fired a fastball that Mikey should've crushed. Instead, he swung early and missed by a mile.

"Strike!" the umpire yelled.

The other team snickered. Mikey's face burned. He could feel everyone watching—especially Maya, if she was even there.

Second pitch: another fastball. Mikey's mind raced with everything that could go wrong. What if he struck out? What if Maya saw and thought he was lame? What if she never showed up at all?

He checked the palm of his hand—sweating like crazy. Wiped it on his uniform. Deep breath. Focus.

"You got this, Mikey!"

The voice came from behind the backstop. Maya.

Mikey's head snapped around. There she was, wearing his team's colors, smiling like she actually meant it. Something in his chest unlocked. All the pressure, the overthinking, the three-week performance—it all just... fell away.

He turned back to the plate, settled into his stance, and watched the pitcher wind up. This time, Mikey didn't think. He didn't calculate angles or worry about impressing anyone. He just swung.

CRACK.

The ball sailed over the left-field fence. A perfect home run.

As Mikey rounded third base and Maya screamed his name, he realized something: pretending to be someone else was exhausting. Being himself, even when it was terrifying, was actually kinda awesome.

"Nice hit, zombie," she said when he crossed home plate.

"Nice of you to finally show up," he replied, grinning.

Maybe freshman year wouldn't be so bad after all.